


Draw Your Swords

by KelseyO



Category: Glee, Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, F/F, Femslash, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing smart and competitive people hate more than other smart and competitive people, and Spencer is about to find that out firsthand. Senior year plus Quinn Fabray equals the one problem she might just go crazy trying to solve. Fabrastings.  Title from the Angus & Julia Stone song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _So come on love, draw your swords_   
> _Shoot me to the ground_   
> _You are mine, I am yours_   
> _Let's not fuck around._

As she heads down the hallway to homeroom, five minutes ahead of schedule, Spencer knows it's going to be a good senior year. She's going to chemistry early so she can sit at her favorite seat, the one at the table in the front row and closest to the window. It gets a nice breeze, it faces the teacher so she doesn't have to keep turning around to see the notes on the board, and she knows for a fact that Mr. Brennan always puts the best equipment at that station.

She's sat in that seat through Environmental Science, AP Biology, and physics, aced every quiz and exam that came her way, and had people practically _beg_ her to let them be her lab partner because they knew she preferred to do everything herself and they could just write their name next to hers on whatever they turned in.

Her bag is loaded with new notebooks, pens, and the brightest highlighters Staples had to offer, and of course, the monstrous chemistry textbook. She cracked it open last night before bed and skimmed chapter one to make sure she had a solid foundation, just in case they got through discussing the syllabus early and jumped into the first lesson.

She's _ready_ , dammit.

Spencer glances at her watch one last time (four minutes until the first bell rings) as she turns the corner into the science wing. There's a few students still trying to get everything into their lockers and some others just hanging around talking, but none of them look even the least bit interested in going to class yet; that seat is all hers.

She arrives at room 552 and strides right through the doorway, and she's so focused on the fact that she's the first one here that it takes her a few seconds to realize she's not. One student has already arrived, a blonde girl wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and she has her textbook open in front of her on the desk.

And she's sitting at Spencer's seat.

Spencer stops abruptly, her feet frozen to the tile floor, and after a moment the girl looks up.

"Hi," she says, managing to sound shy but confident at the same time. "Um, this is AP chemistry, right?"

Spencer stares at her. "Yeah…"

She lets out a breath of relief. "Okay, good. I'm new here so I just wanted to make sure I had the right classroom."

Spencer hasn't moved; she's still trying to wrap her head around the fact that a new student is sitting in her favorite seat, her _lucky_ seat.

"I'm Quinn, by the way," the girl continues, giving her a small smile.

"Spencer," she mutters in reply.

Quinn nods and her eyes dip back down to the pages on the table for a moment before looking up again and arching her eyebrow. "Are you gonna sit down? Or are we supposed to wait for assigned seats or something?"

Spencer finally snaps out of it. "No, uh. I just haven't quite woken up yet," she mumbles, pouting just a little as she takes the other seat at the table, across from Quinn. She sets her bag down on the side and pulls out her notebook and a pen. "Trying to make sense of everything?" she guesses as Quinn turns the page.

She laughs softly. "It's pretty easy, actually. I'm really good at math." She shrugs. "And I just like to read."

Another student walks in and takes a seat toward the back of the classroom.

"Wow," Spencer manages through a weak smile. She's not sure how she feels about having an equal.

"If you need help with any of the material I'd be happy to study with you," Quinn offers, giving her a kind smile, and Spencer grits her teeth.

"Thanks for the offer," she says as calmly as possible, "but I think I'll be fine."

She watches as Quinn goes back to reading; her expression remains completely neutral, never confused, and at one point she nibbles her bottom lip but it seems to be in concentration rather than frustration.

Several more students arrive and the room is filled with post-summer vacation chatter, but Quinn might as well be sitting in an empty library.

"So," Spencer says as she opens her notebook to the first page and writes the date in the top right corner. "You just moved here?"

Quinn doesn't look up. "Yeah. About a month ago."

"Where are you from?"

"Lima."

Spencer hesitates; she has no idea where that is.

"It's in Ohio," Quinn adds, though her eyes are still on the textbook, and Spencer kind of hates that Quinn probably thinks she's stupid.

"Oh." She wants to say something intelligent to balance out the conversation but Mr. Brennan walks in and calls for everyone's attention, and the fact that she has to turn around to look at him reminds her how not okay this seating arrangement is.

"For those of you who have had me before, I know I usually let you pick a lab partner each week," he begins as he walks around the room and hands out the syllabus. "But I thought that since you guys are older and wiser now, you could handle a committed relationship this year." He pauses dramatically and Spencer doesn't like where this is going. "The person you're sitting with right now will be your lab partner for the whole year," he announces, and as the students who sat with their friends exchange excited glances, Spencer sits frozen and horrified.

"Mr. Brennan?" she calls out as he passes their table, and he hands her the syllabus with a warm smile.

"Spencer Hastings! It's a pleasure to have you again." He eyes her suspiciously. "Now, be honest—how much of the textbook have you skimmed already?"

She blushes. "Just the first chapter. But I wanted to ask you, um…" She glances at Quinn, who's looking at the list of assignments. "Wouldn't it make more sense to let us choose our lab partners? I mean, since we're seniors I think we're mature enough to make that decision ourselves."

Mr. Brennan just laughs. "It's good to have you back, Spencer. And honestly, you've got nothing to worry about." He lowers his voice and leans in a little. "From what I can tell from Quinn's entrance exam, she's a brainiac like you. You might actually get to work _with_ someone this year instead of letting everyone else mooch off of your… very impressive work ethic."

She opens her mouth to object but he looks to Quinn. "What about you, Quinn? Are you cool being paired with another smarty-pants?" She smiles. "Not a problem."

He turns back to Spencer. "You guys are a match made in heaven, I promise." He pats the table twice and goes back to the board then writes "AP CHEMISTRY" in big, messy capital letters. "Those of you who have had me before also know that my handwriting is utterly abhorrent, so anyone who's not used to it—bear with me."

There's a few chuckles around the room but Spencer can't even bring herself to crack a smile.

This is _not how she wanted to start her senior year._

"I know how much you guys always let your brains rot over the summer, so I'm going to start off easy. Let's play Guess That Equation!" He says it like he's a game show host and his enthusiasm gets Spencer's adrenalin going; games are a competition, and competitions have a winner, and she's very, _very_ good at winning.

Mr. Brennan holds up a piece of chalk. "First equation," he announces in a deep voice, and he gets really close to the board and begins writing it down.

Spencer stares intently at the board and wonders if Quinn is doing the same, but she doesn't turn around to look.

He steps away from the board and Spencer's pulse is hammering in her veins as she reads the equation.

"The speed of light," she blurts the second it clicks in her brain, but her voice isn't the only one she hears. She glances over her shoulder and sees that Quinn's eyes are just as intense and her lips are parted slightly, like she's just spoken.

"Round one goes to Quinn and Spencer!"

She _hates_ that he says Quinn's name first.

"Next equation…" he says, taking a moment to scrawl it on the board before he steps away again.

"Planck's constant."

They answer simultaneously again and Spencer sees a few people exchange glances. Her cheeks burn red.

"Well, I guess we know who didn't completely boycott their academics over the last three months," Mr. Brennan jokes. "Here's another."

Ten seconds later he reveals the next equation and both girls immediately answer "Avogadro's number."

He throws out his hands. "Come on, people. Are you really going to let them have all the glory?" He's met with blank stares and Spencer notices Quinn trying to hide a smirk. "This is _AP_ chemistry. You're not supposed to be brain-dead once you step through that door."

Someone yawns and Mr. Brennan rolls his eyes. "All right, fine. You guys can balance equations for the rest of the period." He passes out a double-sided worksheet, goes back to his desk, and takes a long sip from his travel mug.

Spencer turns away, back to the table, and Quinn is already writing her name at the top.

"So," Quinn says, flipping to the periodic table at the beginning of the textbook. "Do you want to work together, or…?"

Spencer smiles as sweetly as possible. "No thanks."

Quinn shrugs and begins to work on the first problem, and it makes Spencer's blood boil when she notices the girl is using a pen instead of a pencil.

She glares down at her freshly sharpened Ticonderoga and stuffs it back into her bag in exchange for a blue BIC. They work in silence for a while, Spencer trying not to make any mistakes so she won't have to scribble anything out while she simultaneously watches Quinn to see if she messes up at all.

She doesn't.

A few minutes later Spencer is neck-deep in an equation and suddenly Quinn gets up and heads to Mr. Brennan's desk, taking her sheet with her, and Spencer smirks. She strains to hear what Quinn is asking him—if it's a stupid question, if Spencer knows the answer—but then she goes rigid.

"Excellent job, Quinn. It's good to see that your old school taught you well. You can do whatever you want for the rest of class, any and all law-breaking activities excluded."

"Thank you, Mr. Brennan," she says in a classic kiss-ass tone that Spencer could hear from a mile away, and when she comes back to the table there's a big red check-plus at the top of the paper.

Spencer clenches her jaw and tries to concentrate on the equation, but her eyes keep lifting from the page to watch Quinn, who's now digging through her bag for something. She pulls out a book, one with a worn spine and page corners that have been folded and refolded, and Spencer manages to get a glimpse of the front cover: _The Great Gatsby_.

"Are you reading that for American Lit?" she asks, trying to sound uninterested.

"No. Just for fun." She flips the pages until she finds the place where she left off, held by a red bookmark that says WMHS in white block letters. "This is my third time through."

It occurs to Spencer that she'd probably get along great with Aria, but she pushes the thought away. "So you're an English nerd, too?"

Quinn shrugs. "I'm kind of an everything nerd."

"Well, aren't _you_ special," Spencer mutters under her breath, but Quinn is already engrossed in her book. She takes a deep breath and goes back to the worksheet, which she totally would've finished by now if Quinn hadn't been distracting her.

What a bitch.

.

As soon as the bell rings Spencer bolts from the room, stuffing her worksheet haphazardly into her bag so the stupid red check mark with no plus-sign beside it will stop taunting her. She made one tiny mistake on the last equation because she couldn't see the clock without turning around, and when she can't see what time it is she feels rushed, and the fact that she had to turn around every time she wanted to check made her feel even _more_ rushed and kept breaking her concentration.

So really, it's all Quinn's fault, because she took Spencer's favorite seat.

Spencer is one of the first to get to AP Language and Composition and Mrs. Montgomery greets her with a smile.

"Spencer! How's your first day going so far?"

"Fine," she says with forced enthusiasm. "How about yours?"

Ella laughs. "Well, I'm on my third cup of coffee, so right now I'm wonderful. But we'll have to see what happens when the caffeine wears off," she jokes.

Spencer smiles and then heads for a desk in the back while she waits for Aria to show up. She hopes for the sake of her sanity that the girl isn't in the bathroom texting Ezra or something, because she has no idea how long it's going to take her to blow off all this steam about Quinn and she needs to get as much of it out of her system as she can before class starts. If Quinn manages to mess with Spencer's academics without even being in the room, she might as well just quit school.

Aria arrives and says a quick hello to her mom before she spots Spencer, and her expression is suddenly serious.

"You're sitting in the back row," she says as she takes the adjacent desk. "That means there's drama. How is there already drama? It's not even ten a.m. yet."

Spencer takes her notebook out of her bag. "It's just this new girl."

Aria arches an eyebrow. "A new girl? Spence, it's the first day of school; _everyone's_ new."

"No, new as in she just moved to Rosewood."

"Oh." She shrugs. "What about her?"

Spencer rolls her eyes. " _Everything_. First she took my favorite seat—"

"She took your favorite seat," Aria repeats, giving her a look.

"—and she acted like she thinks I'm an idiot, which is actually really idiotic on _her_ part because I wouldn't be in AP Chemistry if I was an idiot—"

"Very true."

"—and then she knew all the right answers to everything—"

"Sounds familiar."

"—and then we did these worksheets and she used pen so I had to use pen—"

"Obviously."

"—and she finished first and then she got all _literary_ and then I messed up because she was rushing me—"

Aria blinks. "Okay, you lost me."

Spencer groans in frustration. "She thinks she's Miss Perfect. She thinks she's _smarter_ than me. She thinks she can just walk into this school and take an AP class and say she's the best—"

"I really doubt that's what—"

"She's _not_ ," Spencer finishes, slapping her pencil against the desk and folding her arms.

Aria's still looking at her funny. "Spence, calm down. She's trying to get good grades, just like any other senior. She just happens to be freakishly smart like you." Aria frowns. "Actually, that is kind of scary, now that I think about it."

Spencer rests her elbows on her desk and massages her temples. "And I have to start off the day dealing with all of this crap. I can't imagine anything worse."

Aria opens her mouth to reply but then her eyes focus on something behind Spencer. "She looks lost," she murmurs, then cocks her head to the side. "Wait… that's not her, is it?"

Spencer whips around and sees Quinn slowly walking into the room, studying the wrinkled piece of paper in her hand before approaching Mrs. Montgomery.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," Spencer breathes as they exchange a few words and Quinn turns to take a seat. Their eyes meet for a millisecond and the corner of Quinn's mouth quirks just a little, and then she sits in a desk in the second row.

"She _would_ sit in the front," Spencer grumbles, and Aria gives her a look.

"Good morning, everyone!" Mrs. Montgomery calls out, perching on the front of her desk. "I hope you're all ready for an exciting senior year. This is an AP level class so we're going to move pretty fast, and you're going to have to read a lot. You think you can handle it?" she finishes with a smile and there's a murmur of agreement around the room.

"Now, let's assume you all did your summer reading like you were supposed to. Does anyone have a favorite piece or author they'd like to talk about? Prose, poetry, anything."

There's a long moment of everyone glancing around to see if anyone's brave enough to be the first to volunteer.

Quinn raises her hand.

"Of course she raised her hand first," Spencer grumbles under her breath.

"You could've raised _your_ hand first," Aria whispers back.

"I love all of E. E. Cummings's work," Quinn says when Mrs. Montgomery points to her. "The way he ignores the established rules of punctuation and poetic structure to create a language that's entirely his own… As an artist, he was truly free."

Mrs. Montgomery smiles. "Excellent observations. I'm an E. E. Cummings fan, myself."

Quinn blushes slightly. "He's one of my favorites."

Spencer rolls her eyes. "Suck-up," she mutters, but then she freezes when Mrs. Montgomery looks her way.

"Spencer? Do you have something you'd like to share?"

A few people turn to look at her, including Quinn, and her blood boils. "No, um. I just… agree with Quinn. E. E. Cummings is great." She almost doesn't get the words out because that smirk on Quinn's face is killing her.

Mrs. Montgomery nods. "Fair enough. Anyone else?" She's met with silence and she throws out her hands in surrender. "Well, since it's the first day and you guys are obviously not awake, I guess we can be boring and go over the syllabus. Everyone pull out your sheet and let me know if you have any questions."

Spencer glances at the schedule; they're supposed to read "The Yellow Wallpaper" for tomorrow's class.

"So as you can see, your midterm paper is a huge part of your grade and I encourage you all to start brainstorming a topic right away. It can be about anything that relates to an author or a literary piece that we discuss in class—literally, anything, so be creative."

Spencer thinks she might write an essay explaining why E. E. Cummings is the worst poet of all time and ask Quinn to peer edit it for her.

.

She half-expects Quinn to follow her to AP Calculus, and she breathes a sigh of relief when the bell rings and she still hasn't shown up. Calculus is Spencer's favorite subject; she likes that it's all about solving things, that there's always a solution to even the most complicated problem. She likes that it's concrete, that you're either wrong or right (she's usually right).

She has a free period after that and she gets a pass to the library so she can get a head start on "The Yellow Wallpaper." She finds a table tucked away in the corner and pulls out her anthology, and she's a few pages in when she hears footsteps come around the corner and then stop abruptly. Spencer looks up to find Quinn standing in front of her. "What are you doing here?" she blurts before she can stop herself, and Quinn cocks an eyebrow.

"I just came up here for my free period. I didn't know anyone was back here."

"Yeah, well, I am."

Quinn peers at her for a moment. "Why do you hate me?"

Spencer lowers her eyes back to the book. "I don't hate you."

She scoffs. "Okay, then why do you glare daggers at me every time I breathe?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Something in Quinn's expression shifts. "Then you won't mind if I join you?" she asks, her tone challenging.

Spencer stiffens but keeps her face neutral. "Not at all."

Quinn takes the seat across from her and Spencer keeps her eyes determinedly on the reading as Quinn opens a notebook and begins to write. Spencer tries to focus on what she's reading but her gaze keeps lifting to follow Quinn's pen as it travels along the paper. She's kind of dying to know what it is she's writing—notes for class? An assignment? A journal entry

"How's the story?" Quinn asks suddenly, smirking but not looking up, and Spencer forces her eyes back to her book.

"Good," she says and turns the page, even though she hasn't finished reading the one she was on. She reads the same paragraph a few times and then glances at Quinn's notebook for a moment before quickly looking away again. She tries as hard as she can so absorb the words in front of her but nothing sticks, and she grits her teeth in frustration. She's never had a problem like this before, never had issues focusing, and she doesn't understand why it's happening to her now.

A voice in the back of her head whispers that the only new factor here is Quinn, but she ignores it.

"So," Spencer continues, keeping her eyes on her homework, "What other classes are you taking?"

Quinn laughs softly. "Want to make sure you're not stuck in anything else with me?"

Spencer shrugs. "Just curious."

She pulls her schedule out of her pocket. "After this I have AP Stats, French, lunch, then AP World History." She smirks and raises an eyebrow. "See yourself filing any restraining orders?"

Spencer tries not to look too relieved. "No. We have the same lunch but that's it."

Quinn nods and goes back to her notes and Spencer turns the page again. She still hasn't made any progress with actual reading.

They spend the rest of the period in silence, and when the bell rings Quinn has filled the entire page with notes and Spencer has only legitimately read a few paragraphs. She closes her book with a sigh as they both pack up their stuff.

Quinn pushes in her chair and starts walking toward the door, but then she stops. "See you at lunch?" she calls over her shoulder.

Spencer swallows. "See you at lunch," she replies and then stares after Quinn's retreating form. Just before she disappears around the corner she looks back, and Spencer busies herself with hanging her messenger bag on her shoulder. When she looks up again Quinn is gone, but Spencer can still see the smirk on her face.

She hates that smirk.


	2. Chapter 2

At Quinn's old school, she experienced basically every rung on the social ladder. She was at the top of the hierarchy, and then at rock bottom, and then floating in some gray middle-area. She's been revered, envied, feared, and ignored, had her ups and downs with people, the whole nine yards.

She's never been  _hated_ , though, and that's why Spencer intrigues her so much.

She isn't quite sure what she even did to incur the girl's wrath; in fact, she's trying  _not_  to be a bitch to anyone because this new school is a chance for her to finally be a human being instead of just a name permanently associated with pregnancy and cheating and drama. And yet, for whatever reason, Spencer seems to have a grudge against her from the moment they stepped into the same breathing space.

Well, maybe Spencer doesn't  _hate_ her… but there's this vibe she gives off that's always smashing into Quinn, one that's territorial and competitive and insanely protective of the whole "I'm the smartest person in the room" thing, and Quinn has never experienced that before.

But it's new, and it's interesting, and that's all she's really asking for from Rosewood High.

After forty-five minutes of watching Spencer watch her write (God, that girl is really bad at pretending to read) she goes to AP Stats, which is her favorite subject aside from English. She likes that it's all about taking messy, complicated information and making it simple, that you can find patterns and trends in the data and figure out what the end result is going to be. She wonders about the probability of Spencer trying to blow her up during their first chemistry lab.

Her last class before lunch is French. It's her only non-AP class besides Creative Writing and she lets herself relax (especially because she doesn't share it with Spencer). The teacher goes through the syllabus briefly and then tells them split into groups to work on simple refresher exercises for the rest of class, and her heart sinks a little. At William McKinley she was always the one accepting or rejecting partner requests; here, she doesn't know anyone and no one knows her.

"Hey, do you want to work with us?"

She turns around to see two girls looking at her: one has long black hair and tan skin, while the other has short, wavy blonde hair and dimples.

"Sure," she replies with a smile, moving her desk to sit beside theirs.

"I'm Emily," says the dark-haired girl, the one who invited her to join them. "And this is Hanna," she adds, gesturing to the blonde, who gives her a small wave.

"I'm Quinn."

Hanna cocks her head thoughtfully. "So, did you just move to Rosewood? Usually the seniors all know each other."

"I'm from Ohio."

Hanna blinks. "What's even  _in_  Ohio?"

Emily whacks her in the arm. "Hanna!"

Quinn just shrugs. "Show choir competitions."

Hanna nods slowly. "Huh."

"Did you play any sports at your old school?" Emily asks.

"I was the Cheerios captain for a while, but that's it."

Hanna frowns. "Breakfast cereal is a sport in Ohio?"

Quinn laughs. "No—that's what we called cheerleaders."

She thinks for a moment and then grins. "Oh, I get it! Because 'cheer' and then ' _cheer_ ios'… " She pauses when Emily gives her a look. "It's funny," she mumbles.

Emily rolls her eyes but she's trying to stifle a laugh. "Well, I'm on the swim team, so if you're interested in trying out, let me know."

Quinn grimaces. "Thanks, but I might have to pass. I haven't decided if I'm going play anything here."

"Come on, you totally should! What's senior year without a little excitement?"

She blushes a bit. "Okay, okay, I'll think about it."

Hanna clutches her stomach and glances at the clock. "This class couldn't be going any slower," she whines. "I'm  _starving_."

"You guys have lunch next period, too?"

Emily smiles. "Yeah. You wanna eat with us?"

She thinks of her and Spencer's "See you at lunch" exchange and wonders if she should say no, but she never actually told Spencer she'd sit with her; she was just acknowledging that they would most likely see each other at some point.

"I'd love to."

.

When the bell rings they walk to the cafeteria together as Quinn explains the premise of the movie they're going to watch in class in a few weeks.

"It's basically about this French douchebag who steals a car and kills a cop and then tries to hide from the authorities with his ex-girlfriend. And he chainsmokes."

"Sounds pretty cool," Emily says as they grab an empty table and start to dig into their lunches.

"I wish it wasn't in a foreign language," Hanna mutters between sips of Mountain Dew. "They always talk way too fast for me to understand anything."

Quinn takes a bite of salad. "I have it on DVD. You can borrow it if you want… watch it with subtitles first."

Hanna grins. "You are definitely my new best friend."

"Hey!" Emily protests playfully.

She shrugs. "You guys can  _both_  be my best friends if you get me through French class this year," she says with a shake of her head.

" _Pas de problème_ ," Quinn replies.

Hanna groans. "My brain isn't on yet. What does that mean?"

Quinn laughs. "No problem." She's in the middle of chewing a cherry tomato when she hears a faint " _You've got to be kidding me"_ ; she looks around to see Spencer and a tiny brunette she recognizes from English class standing several yards away, looking in their direction. The smaller girl gives Spencer a look and then they approach the table.

"Hey, guys," Spencer's friend greets, sitting next to Hanna, and then she eyes Quinn. "You're Quinn, right?"

She nods. "You're in my AP Language and Composition class."

"Right. I'm Aria, by the way."

Quinn nods again. "Nice to meet you."

Aria glances at Spencer, who's taken the seat next to Emily, furthest from Quinn, but Spencer doesn't say anything.

Hanna looks between the two of them for a moment and raises her eyebrow. "Um, Spence, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is Spencer."

"I know," Quinn says just as Spencer grumbles the same thing, and then Emily and Hanna are staring at them.

"You do?" Hanna asks.

Spencer bites into her sandwich with way more force than necessary and Quinn tries to stifle a smirk. "We're in the same chem class," Spencer mutters around her food, staring at the milk carton in front of her, "and the same English class."

Hanna nods slowly, still looking confused. "Cool."

"You know," Emily pipes up, "If swimming isn't your thing, you could try field hockey. Spencer's the co-captain."

Quinn glances at Spencer as she licks Caesar dressing off the tip of her finger. "Co-captain, huh?"

Spencer chews and swallows carefully. "Yep."

She's never even played field hockey before, but she's kind of dying to know how Spencer would react to having competition both in academics and in sports. "When are tryouts?"

"Tomorrow and Wednesday," she replies, clearly trying to keep her voice even.

Quinn glances at Hanna and Emily, who are looking at each other like they're silently trying to figure out what's going on, and at Aria, who's looking at Spencer like a pet she's expecting to misbehave at any second.

She smirks and eats her last bite of salad. "Count me in." Suddenly she notices someone walking toward them, a tall boy with brown hair and bright blue eyes, and when he sees her looking at him he holds a finger to his lips.

He sneaks up behind Spencer and then puts his hands over her eyes. "Guess who," he asks teasingly when she jumps at the unexpected contact.

A smile spreads across her face and she grips his wrists, pulls his hands down from her eyes, and kisses his palm. "It's good to see you, too," she says, standing up and hanging her arms around his neck.

He frowns. "That's not my name."

She rolls her eyes but she's still smiling as she leans up for a kiss, and Quinn averts her gaze to the remains of her salad.

Hanna leans over. "That's Toby. Spencer's boyfriend."

Quinn laughs softly. "You know, I had a hunch."

Spencer sits back down and he stands behind her, massaging her shoulders. "You're so tense," he says as he works the muscles. "Rough first day so far?"

"Something like that," she mutters, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.

Quinn focuses on opening her bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, but then Toby catches her eye.

"Thanks for not giving me away," he says with a smile. "I'm Toby, by the way."

"Quinn," she replies, then eats a chip.

"I haven't seen you around before. Are you new here?"

"I moved from Ohio a few months ago."

"That's cool. Where in Ohio?"

"Toby," Spencer interrupts before Quinn can answer, "You want to go for a walk or something?" She rises from her seat, grabs both his hands, and starts pulling him away.

"Uh, sure," he replies before glancing over his shoulder. "It was nice to meet you, Quinn."

"Nice to meet you too," she murmurs, but they're already gone.

"So," Hanna says, "Do you guys want to come over tonight and watch  _Breathless_?"

Emily shrugs. "Sure."

She turns to Quinn. "Bring the movie over at seven?"

Quinn nods. " _Je peux le faire_."

Hanna looks at her blankly. "What?"

She laughs and finishes off her bag of chips. "I can do that."

.

"You like s'mores, right?" Hanna asks the second she opens the front door, and Quinn nods. "Good, 'cause we're gonna make some after the movie."

On cue, Quinn holds up the DVD. "Special Edition with French and English subtitles," she announces with a smile.

"Ugh, you're a  _goddess_." Hanna takes it from her and leads her to the living room and Emily is already there, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a huge bowl of popcorn.

"Want some?" Emily asks, but Quinn shakes her head.

"I heard there are some s'mores in my future. Gotta save room for those."

"Screw that," Hanna says, moving past Quinn to get to the bowl. She stuffs several pieces into her mouth and licks her fingers. "So," she says around the popcorn, "Aria's gonna be a little late, but Spencer's on the way."

Quinn barks out a laugh. "Oh, goody."

Emily pats the floor next to her and Quinn takes a seat on the carpet. "What's with you guys, anyways?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Why does Spencer, like, want to kill you?" Hanna clarifies, and Emily gives her a look. "What?"

Quinn shrugs. "You guys know her better than I do. You tell me."

"Uh… hey, guys," someone mutters, and they all look up to see Spencer standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Spence!" Hanna greets, holding up the popcorn bowl. "Hungry?"

"No thanks. What's going on?"

"We were just about to start the movie. Quinn, wanna help me grab the drinks?"

She nods and follows Hanna into the kitchen. "You didn't tell her you invited me," she says once they're out of earshot.

Hanna shrugs as she gets the soda out of the fridge. "I might've forgotten to mention it. Grape soda, Diet Pepsi, or root beer?"

"Grape, please." Quinn arches an eyebrow at Hanna's snort. "What's so funny?"

Hanna gives her two cans of the soda. "It's Spencer's favorite."

"Ironic."

"Yep."

Quinn sighs. "Well, we shouldn't keep her waiting. She'll think I poisoned her drink or shook it up or something."

"After you," Hanna says, and they head back to the living room. Emily is still sitting on the floor but Spencer is sprawled on the couch stomach-down, taking up all three cushions. "Spence, can you not monopolize the couch?"

"Good word," she murmurs, "And no."

Quinn bites the inside of her cheek to stop from smirking. "Shoulders still tense?"

Spencer doesn't look at her. "Yes."

"If you make room on the couch, I'll try and fix it."

"I'm all set, thanks."

"Are you sure? I'm told I have magic hands."

Spencer glares at her. "Is that my soda?"

Quinn puts the can on the far edge of the coffee table, impossible for Spencer to reach without getting up. "Yep."

Hanna coughs and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and now the glare is directed at all three of them. Finally, she huffs and gets off the couch. "You guys are obnoxious," she grumbles, and as she reaches for the soda, they all dart behind her simultaneously and take her seat.

She turns to stare at the three of them. "Seriously?"

Hanna grabs the remote. "Sit down, Spence. You're blocking the DVD player."

Spencer glances around the room, then locks eyes with Quinn for single moment before sitting down on the floor directly in front of her, facing away from Quinn. "I still don't want a massage."

"Okay."

"This is the best angle to watch from."

"Okay."

"Hanna, start the freaking movie."

"No, don't start it yet!" Aria calls from the foyer, closing the front door and rushing into the room. "Okay. I'm here."

"Hit the lights," Hanna says, and Aria flips the switch, and now the room is pitch dark except for the light from the TV screen.

Emily scoots over to make room for her on the couch and she plops down. "Spence, why are you sitting on the floor?"

Spencer takes a big gulp of soda. "I felt like it."

Aria glances at the amused expressions on everyone else's faces. "Jeez, what did I miss?" Emily leans over and whispers something in her ear and she nods slowly.

"Hanna, can you turn the volume up?" Spencer asks, barely hiding her agitation. She's hunched forward, away from Quinn's legs, and as they watch the opening scene, she keeps flexing her back and shoulders.

Quinn shifts so she's sitting Indian-style on the couch and then splits her attention between the movie and Spencer; at one point the girl glances back just enough to see that Quinn has moved her legs, and after what looks like a long moment of deliberation, she slides back along the floor until she's leaning against the front of the couch.

She watches Spencer fidget with her neck and shoulder muscles for a few more minutes and then rolls her eyes. She leans forward a little and gently puts her hands on Spencer's shoulders, and she isn't surprised when Spencer flinches away from the contact.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, trying to shrug out of Quinn's grip.

She brings her mouth right up to Spencer's ear. "Shut up and watch the movie." Quinn prods Spencer's muscles with her thumbs first, trying to feel where the knots are, and then she gets to work using her fingertips to smooth out the kinks.

It only takes about thirty seconds of digging into the space between her shoulder blades for Spencer to relax against Quinn's hands, and by the time the next scene starts she's practically leaning into the pressure.

"Is it weird that I think he's really hot?" Hanna asks abruptly.

Spencer stiffens, like she forgot anyone else was in the room, and then she's on her feet and snatching the bowl from Aria's lap.

"I'm gonna get more popcorn," she announces before high-tailing it to the kitchen.

"It wasn't even empty yet," Aria calls after her, but she doesn't get a response.

When Spencer returns, she sits on the floor in front of Aria, at the opposite end of the couch from Quinn.

.

"I still think it's just a glorification of criminal behavior," Spencer says before taking another bite of her s'more. "The whole movie is him being an asshole; there's nothing compelling about that."

Quinn shakes her head. "You have to think about the bigger picture. They used so many things that had never been done before—the themes, the cinematography, even the cameras they used to film it. It was revolutionary."

"I'm just pissed it's such an old movie," Hanna sighs, picking at a graham cracker. "That guy was so attractive when he was thirty." There's a far-off look on her face and she takes out her phone. "I wonder if Caleb speaks any French…"

"Okay, moving on," Spencer says through a mouthful of marshmallow.

"Can somebody figure out a not-disgusting way to eat these?" Aria asks, licking chocolate off her fingers.

Emily shakes her head. "Impossible."

Aria wipes her mouth with a napkin. "I'm gonna need a frigging shower when I get home."

"Amateurs," Spencer mutters, laughing a little, but when after takes another bite, there's a big smudge of chocolate on her cheek. They all giggle and her eyes snap to each of theirs. "What's so funny?"

"You got a little…" Aria says, pointing her finger to her own face, but when Spencer tries to mirror the action, she's off by an inch.

"No, Spence, it's right here," Emily tries, tapping the bit of skin right next to the corner of her mouth, but Spencer misses again.

"Oh, for the love of God," Quinn mutters, then licks the pad of her thumb and cleans off the chocolate before Spencer can move out of her reach.

Spencer hurriedly tries to wipe away the moisture. "Ugh, I don't want your saliva on my face."

Quinn shrugs. "Spit is invisible. Chocolate isn't." She finishes off her s'more without any of its inner goo leaking out. "You're welcome."

They all watch as Spencer takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and when she looks up again, her expression is strangely calm.

"Thank you, Quinn."

"What the hell?" Aria murmurs under her breath.

Suddenly Spencer reaches over with a chocolate-covered finger and smears a streak of it along Quinn's chin.

"And… she's back."

Spencer keeps their gazes locked, like she's waiting for her to flip out or something, but Quinn just smirks and drags her own finger through the chocolate and then licks it off.

Spencer's cheeks burn and she looks away, and it's the third time Quinn has seen that shade of red today.

She likes that color, she thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer is just about to head into the chemistry room (ten minutes early, this time, because she’s _going_ to get there before Quinn and she’s _going_ to sit in her favorite seat), but Emily calls out to her right before she crosses the threshold.

“Spence!  Wait up a second.”

She grits her teeth and glances longingly at the empty classroom before turning to face Emily.  “What’s up?” she asks, her tone pleasant but tight.

“I’m thinking of switching into your psychology class, and I was wondering if you like the teacher?  I talked to my mom about colleges last night and she thinks I could major in psych.”

“Um,” Spencer begins, trying to come up with the quickest response possible, “Mr. Louis is pretty great.  He doesn’t assign much homework but he talks really fast during his lectures so it’s easy to miss something if you’re not completely focused.”

Emily nods thoughtfully.  “That could be a problem.  The only person I know who’s more easily distracted than I am is Hanna.”  She shrugs.  “I’ll think about it.  Thanks!”  Just before she walks away, she waves at someone behind Spencer.  “Hey, Quinn!”

Spencer whips around just in time to see Quinn wave back and then throw Spencer the smallest of smirks before walking into the chemistry room and taking Spencer’s seat.

Once her blood stops boiling enough to allow her to move, Spencer enters the room and takes her own (not favorite) seat.  “Why are you here so early?” she asks, resisting the urge to wipe at that spot on her cheek where Quinn basically licked chocolate off her face last night.

Quinn shrugs.  “Why are _you_?”

“Habit.”

She laughs softly.

“What?”

“I assumed you were just trying to get here before me.”

Spencer clears her throat a little.  “You know what happens when you assume.”

Quinn raises a challenging eyebrow.  “Yeah.  I’m almost always right.”

“Well,” Spencer says, busying herself with getting her notebook out of her bag, “Not this time, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Spencer chews the inside of her cheek.  “Did you read ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’?”

“Well, yeah.  It was our homework.”

“Good morning, ladies!” Mr. Brennan greets, striding into the room and setting his bag on the table.  “I had a feeling you two would be the first ones here.  It warms my heart to know you love chemistry so much that you just can’t bear to not be in this room.”

Spencer manages a weak smile that vanishes the moment he turns his back, and as she opens her notebook she rubs her hand over her cheek.

“I don’t have rabies, you know.”

She glances up; Quinn is hunched over _The Great Gatsby_ again.  “What?”

Quinn turns the page.  “That spot on your cheek where I wiped the chocolate off.  It’s like you’re afraid you’re gonna get hives or something.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow.  “Pardon me for wishing you hadn’t indirectly licked my face.  That’s something my mom would do, not one of my friends.”

Now Quinn meets her gaze with an amused smile.  “You and I are friends?”

Spencer blinks and opens her mouth to object, but she doesn’t know what she can say that won’t sound awful and rude.  “How many times have you read that again?” she asks, nodding toward Quinn’s book while trying not to grimace at how shaky her voice sounds.

Quinn stifles another laugh but then just shrugs.  “A few.”

“ _A few_ ,” Spencer mimics under her breath; she’s smothered by the chatter of arriving classmates, but she’s sure she sees the corner of Quinn’s mouth twitch.

.

She sits in the back row again when she gets to English, earning a wary eye-roll from Aria a few minutes later.

“What?” Aria groans.

Spencer glares at her.  “If I were having a legitimately bad day and something awful had just happened, that would’ve really hurt.”

Aria cocks her eyebrow.  “But you’re not, and it’s about Quinn.”

“Well—yeah, but—”

“Just tell me what she did, Spence.”

Spencer hesitates, wetting her lips and shifting in her desk a bit.  “She sat in my seat again,” she mumbles.

“Wow,” Aria replies flatly, “what a bitch.”

“Why can’t you just be a good friend and pretend to agree with me?”

“Isn’t that what I just did?”

Spencer huffs.  “Forget it.  I’ll just have to rely on Toby’s massages to keep me sane.”

Aria rolls her eyes.  “Oh yeah, your life is _so_ stressful.”

“You know what—” She begins, but she’s cut off by the bell and begrudgingly turns her attention to Mrs. Montgomery.

“Good morning, everyone!  I’m very excited to hear what you all thought of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper.’  I know it’s an odd piece and a bit tough to wrap your head around… but who wants to try dissecting the story first?”

Spencer waits a beat before raising her hand.

“Spencer,” she calls, and Quinn glances back at her.

“I thought the narrator and John had a really interesting dynamic.  I liked that even though John thought he was smarter than the narrator and he kept screwing her over,” she says, and holding Quinn’s gaze, “she still beat him at the end.”

“Really?” Aria mutters under her breath, “‘Cause I could’ve sworn it was about a chick obsessing over something until she went crazy.”

“Well, that’s certainly one way of looking at it.  Does anybody have anything to add?”

Spencer stares at the back of Quinn’s head, daring her to raise her hand.

“I think you have to think about perception versus reality,” Quinn says suddenly.  “The narrator sees patterns and movements and even a figure, but everyone else just sees wallpaper.  Her perspective isn’t reliable.”

Spencer sits up straighter.  “So observing something nobody else can see means she’s crazy?”

Aria slumps down in her seat.  “You guys aren’t gonna do this every day, are you?”

“I didn’t say it makes her crazy,” Quinn replies, turning sideways to look at Spencer.  “I said it makes us question the accuracy of her perspective.  Just because she thinks something is a certain way, doesn’t mean it actually is.”

“That’s a great point,” Mrs. Montgomery interjects.  “Actually, it’s the perfect segue into today’s topic, which is reliable narrators.  Who can give me some examples of a reliable narrator?”

The rest of the class jumps in on the conversation and Spencer tunes it out, still glaring at Quinn.  Aria notices and gives her a look.

“Okay, you need to give it a rest or you’re going to set her on fire.”

Spencer rolls her eyes.  “And then that would be the perfect segue into a discussion of _Fahrenheit 451_ and she’d still be teacher’s pet.”

Aria blinks at her.  “I give up.”

“I hope she’s still trying out for field hockey this afternoon,” Spencer mutters.  “She can get away with taking my seat, but that field is _mine_.”

“You frighten me, sometimes.”

.

Spencer goes to the same spot as yesterday for her free period and spreads her playbook notes over the table, making a mental list of the team’s most complicated plays so she can pull some out for tryouts later.  She needs to put Quinn in her place as quickly as possible; that girl doesn’t have a _chance_ on Spencer’s field.

She looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps and fights off an eye-roll when she sees Quinn in front of her.

“Hey, Spence,” she greets with a smile.  “Didn’t expect you to be back here again.”

Spencer cocks an eyebrow.  “Why? I was here yesterday.”

“Yeah—and I _found_ you here yesterday.  I assumed you wouldn’t want to risk it again.”

“You assume a lot about me, apparently.”  She shuffles through a few pages, and Quinn doesn’t move.  “Okay, either sit down or leave because I can’t concentrate with you hovering like that.”

Quinn smiles again and takes a seat across from her, glancing curiously at the papers covering the table.  “Field hockey?”

“Yep.”

Her eyebrow rises just a little and Spencer swallows.  “This stuff looks pretty intense for tryouts.”

Spencer shrugs a shoulder.  “If you can’t handle the hardest plays, you shouldn’t be on the team in the first place.”

“Fair enough,” Quinn says with a smirk, and pulls out _The Great Gatsby_.

Spencer rolls her eyes.  “You know the definition if insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome.”

Quinn’s eyes remain on the book.  “Then it’s a good thing Gatsby teaches me something new every time.”  Now her gaze flicks up to Spencer’s.  “Are you sick of watching me read it?”

She blinks.  “I’m not watching you,” she argues, frowning and shaking her head as she buries herself in her field hockey notes again.

Quinn laughs and Spencer thinks she hears a quietly muttered “You’re cute.”

“What did you say?”  Her stomach is in her throat.

Quinn looks up and cocks her head.  “Hmm?”

“You just—you said I was—”

“Oh, no.  I was talking about Nick,” she says, pointing down at the page.

Spencer is frozen.  “O-oh.”  She shakes her head.  “Yeah, of course,” she says with a weak laugh.

Quinn raises an eyebrow again.  “You okay over there?”

“Fine.”  She stares down at her notes, hard, but her brain refuses to register anything but gibberish.  “Um,” she mutters, scooping everything into a disorganized pile, “I’m gonna go talk to the coach about something.”

Quinn smiles.  “See you at lunch.”

.

She doesn’t see Quinn at lunch, because she intercepts Toby on his way to meet her in the cafeteria, and pulls him out to the courtyard instead.

It’s been raining on and off all day and everything is damp, but she pushes him up against a brick column anyways and kisses him deeply.

“Spence,” he mumbles against her lips, “What’re you—?”

She dips down to his neck.  “What’s wrong?” she asks between kisses.

“Nothing.  It’s just”—she kisses him again—“cold”—another kiss—“and wet.”  Finally he grips her shoulders and moves her back a few inches.  “Aren’t you freezing?  And hungry?  You should eat—you have tryouts in a few hours.”

Spencer pouts and starts to turn away, but he gently grabs her hand.

“Not that I don’t love this,” he says, pulling her closer, “because I do.  But maybe it could happen later, after you kick ass on that field.” He gives her a peck on the lips.  “And maybe indoors, so you’re not shivering.”

Spencer licks her lips. “Okay,” she agrees, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

He takes her hand and drops it to hip-level, then laces their fingers. “Walk you back to the cafeteria?”

“I think I’m gonna go to the library instead,” she says slowly.

“Spence, come on, you need to eat.”

“I have a PB&J,” she replies, backing away from him until their hands are forced to separate, “I’ll be fine.” Spencer turns around and heads back into the building, then turns left instead of right, in the opposite direction of both the cafeteria and the library.

There’s nothing wrong with taking the scenic route every once in a while.

.

Spencer is the first one on the field after the final bell rings; she sets up a table on the sideline with the necessary handouts and signup sheets, and by the time the co-captain shows up, she’s already shooting balls into the net like they personally offended her.

“Jeez, you gonna save any of that juice for the actual tryouts?” Lindsey asks as she tears the plastic seal off of her Powerade.

Spencer winds up and buries the next shot. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“O... kay, then. Hi! Are you here for field hockey?”

She turns around to find Quinn walking toward them, wearing a red WMHS Cheerios t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. “Yep,” she replies to Lindsey; her eyes shift to Spencer for just a moment. “Quinn Fabray. I just moved here from Ohio.”

They shake hands and Spencer’s next shot bounces off the post. “I’m Lindsey, and this is—”

“Spencer,” Quinn interrupts with a playful smile. “We’ve met.”

“I see. So, have you had much experience with field hockey?”

Quinn grabs one of the spare sticks, knocks a ball free from the bag, and begins to dribble in place. “None at all, actually, but Coach Sylvester made sure we were very well-rounded athletes.” She takes a shot at the net and makes it easily, even though she’s standing twice the distance from the goal as Spencer. “Plus, I’m a fast learner.”

Spencer digs all of the balls out of the net and kicks them back toward Quinn. “Do it again.”

Quinn lines up and proceeds to hit every shot almost perfectly, and now Lindsey is staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You sure you’ve never played before?”

“Yep,” she says, pushing some stray hair out of her face. “Why?”

Lindsey shrugs and it looks like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. “No reason. I just… have a feeling you’re gonna make the team without a problem.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Spencer interjects, emptying the goal again. “Anyone can score on an empty net.”

“So let’s see what she’s made of.” Lindsey tosses a ball at Quinn’s feet. “See if you can get one past Spence.”

Spencer shakes her head. “What’s the point of—I’m not a goalie. I-I don’t even have any gear on, which gives her more room to—”

“Okay, Spence?” Lindsey interrupts. “This isn’t a penalty shot in sudden-death overtime. Just let her give it a try.”

Spencer clenches her jaw and cracks her neck, then gets into a ready stance and watches Quinn scan the goal. Her pulse quickens when Quinn’s eyes meet hers, but she dismisses it as adrenalin and takes a deep breath in and out.

Quinn finally winds up and shoots, but the ball goes wide by several inches and Spencer rolls her eyes.

“Oh come on, you weren’t even trying.”

She shrugs. “You said it yourself, you’re not wearing any pads. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Whatever,” Spencer says, hitting the ball back to her, “try again.”

Quinn stops the ball under her foot and adjusts her grip on the stick. “You sure?”

Lindsey’s glancing their way. “Steph just came out of the gym and she’s already got her pads on. Let her—”

“Just shoot the ball!”

Quinn obeys, and then there’s a burst of pain in her kneecap and she has to bite her lip to hold in the string of obscenities ready to fly out of her mouth.

“You okay?” Quinn asks, looking genuinely concerned.

Spencer clears her throat and shakes her leg around a bit, though it does little to dull the throbbing. “I blocked the shot, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Lindsey says. “Do you need ice?”

“Nope, I’m good,” she chokes out as she tries to casually make her way back to the table, because the rest of the team is starting to show up and she doesn’t want this to be a big deal.

Lindsey’s giving her a look. “You think I don’t see you limping? Sit on the damn bench, Hastings.”

Spencer rolls her eyes again but hobbles over to the bench anyways, then flexes her leg back and forth and tries not to wince at the enormous bruise she can already feel forming.

To her utter horror, Quinn follows her off the field. “You okay?” she asks again, but this time her words aren’t nearly as serious.

“I’m great!” Spencer says with a shrug, but her hands are clenched around the edge of the metal seat.

“I meant your knee, not your goaltending skills.”

“Still great.”

Quinn nods with a cocked eyebrow. “I’m gonna get you an ice pack.”

“I don’t need an ice—”

“Shut up, Spencer,” Lindsey interrupts, handing an ice pack to Quinn, who tosses it unceremoniously into Spencer’s lap. “Make sure she actually uses it.”

Quinn glances at the other girls beginning to stretch. “Shouldn’t I…?”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” she replies. “There are more tryouts tomorrow; but like I said, I don’t think you’ll have a problem making the team.” She jogs off to join the rest of the team, leaving Spencer to determinedly avoid Quinn’s eyes as she holds the ice pack to her knee.

But then Quinn is kneeling in front of her and there’s one hand on top of her thigh while another grips her calf, fingers still cold from holding the ice.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, I’m just checking your range of motion.” She slowly lifts Spencer’s leg until her knee is straight, then glances up at her. “How does that feel?”

Spencer isn’t quite sure why it takes her so long to mutter “Fine,” or why her heart is beating so fast, or why she hates that Lindsey is watching them right now. “Can I have my foot back?”

When Quinn finally lets go, Spencer feels like she’s just finished running suicides.


End file.
